


Somewhere, Somehow, Someday.

by coffeeintherain



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Eventual Romance, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Injury Recovery, M/M, Movie: Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Slow Burn, Stormpilot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-24 20:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13819161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeintherain/pseuds/coffeeintherain
Summary: Finn wakes up, and everything has changed. Rey has gone chasing after mythical Jedi knights, Finn's spine has nearly been severed in half, and Poe is keeping something from from Finn, though he doesn't know what. Through recovery, nightmares, failures and bittersweet victories, how will the "biggest deal in the Resistance" fare? Set during the events of The Last Jedi, this fic seeks to give our boys a re-write they deserve.





	1. Lightness

The sun is in his eyes.

He is blinded by it, momentarily. The white hot intensity of its glare, the purest warmth he has ever felt seeping into his very bones. He feels the corner of his mouth tug into a tired smile, his eyes beginning to close…

The sun is in his eyes and he cannot see anything but orange fire. He blinks, but even behind his eyelids he can still feel its presence burning into his mind. It is insistent, demanding to be felt, and so he allows himself to be overwhelmed by its light.

He feels his body being pulled ever closer into a cold embrace, it is as if he is falling in slow motion into a frozen pool, the ice clambers over his body, the frigid water seeps into his skin, and for a moment he knows nothing but cold. Dark. The sunlight which once so brazenly embraced him is but a shadow of a memory. He cannot remember how it felt to feel…

He sighs… at least, he think he sighs… he feels his chest heave and air escapes him, his lungs collapsing comfortably against the crushing weight of this icy coldness. A fleeting thought bounds into his mind: this place seems… familiar. Like he has spent a millenia here and has just returned from a short vacation. He feels as though this is his place, here, in this enveloping darkness. He gives himself over to the feeling, and for a split second he feels peace. 

But then, all at once, he is being tugged upwards. He ascends, and by degrees he feels a warmth beginning to fall over him like a light mist. He almost resists it, almost yanks himself free to allow himself to stay suspended in his comfortable darkness. But, something deep within him is bubbling to the surface, and he is rising ever faster, and the ice that has covered him is falling away in crystal-like shards, and he feels his heart begin to pound and the blood begin to rush through him, and he feels warmth and warmth and warmth and it is so incredibly bright…

 

“Finn!”

 

He lays very still. He does not want to betray himself by opening his eyes, because he can see the darkness now. But the icy cold is dripping off from him, releasing its grip, and he knows that this is not that darkness.

 

“Finn, buddy, please.”

 

Strange, he thinks, that even in death he would know that voice anywhere. 

 

“Finn!”

 

His eyes slide open slowly, a sterile white-hot light searing into his retinas. He goes to lift an arm to block out its harshness, but he finds his limbs are heavy and useless, trapped inside of some kind of odd, liquid-filled suit. He blinks against the light, still adjusting, and his mind begins to recall the events of the past two hours in a rapid succession--

 

Rey, Han Solo, Kylo Ren, snow, a sword made of pure light, pain, pain, pain….

 

He groans, suddenly viscerally aware of the pain exploding from his left shoulder, all the way to the small of his back. 

 

“Hey, Finn, it’s okay--oh hell--can we get a medic?” The familiar voice projects into the room, sounding worried.

“P-Poe?” His mouth is clumsy, his tongue is heavy, his throat is so dry--he has not spoken in decades, surely.

“Yeah, yeah buddy, it’s me, it’s Poe” The words are like liquid gold pouring into his veins, and he feels a familiar warmth creep into his blood. He dares to move his head away from the blinding overhead light, throwing his chin to the right and hoping that his neck holds out. There is a strange glass dome hovering just inches above his face, with what he guesses are his vitals flashing by at a leisurely pace. It’s oddly calming to watch. His eyes refocus through the glass, and he sees a worried face looking back at him, dark curly hair flying outward in every direction. The worry gives way to a slight smile as Finn’s eyes adjust.

“Hey there, buckethead. How do you feel?” Poe asks, the tension flowing off from his form as if a gentle breeze had knocked it lightly away. His shoulders slump downwards and his eyebrows unfurrow as he looks frantically between Finn’s eyes, seemingly unable to choose which one to look at as he talks.

Finn chooses Poe’s right eye to look at as he says “Like crap. What happened? Where’s Rey?”

Poe chooses that moment to pull the white chair sitting forgotten behind him up to Finn’s bedside, and he flops onto it with an exhausted sigh. Finn tries to readjust his viewpoint, as Poe is now sitting behind the part of the glass dome that has Finn’s body schematic projected onto it, with the injured areas lightly pulsating in a red light. Poe’s face is shrouded somewhat behind Finn’s sternum, and Finn tries to look through the projection to his face. 

Poe isn’t making eye contact, so Finn steals a moment to assess his friend. He is still in his flight suit, the bright orange the only thing letting Finn know that his color vision is still working properly. With all of the nauseating whites and greys of the medbay, which are very reminiscet of Finn’s time on the Star Destroyer, Poe’s jumpsuit is a welcome sight. His white life support vest is gone, and his lapels hang open around his neck, revealing a black undershirt and a silver chain that disappears into the curve of Poe’s clavicle. (Finn doesn’t remember Poe every wearing jewelry before...?) His face and hands are streaked with grease--he must have just come from the hangar, but other than that he looks unblemished. Finn can’t see any open wounds, and Poe doesn’t seem to be in psychological distress, but the way he is wringing his hands and still avoiding eye contact leaves Finn with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. 

“How much do you remember from Starkiller?” Poe asks, finally, in a whoosh of breath. He looks at Finn, then, through the glass bubble. The red light of the projection of Finn’s body pulsates gently over his chin. 

Finn clears his throat before answering, “I remember the fight with Kylo, I hit him once or twice I think, he threw Rey into a tree--” he winces, remembering watching her body thwack violently against the trunk before dropping nearly twenty feet to the powdery ground below. “Then, I--I remember him getting the jump on me, he--he sliced me up pretty bad I think. I don’t remember much else. Just falling into the snow and passing out… Is… Is Rey alright? Is she alive” He asks hesitantly, trying to swallow around his dry throat.

Poe nods fervently, seeing Finn’s distress. “Yeah, Rey, she’s fine. Better than fine, actually.” He settles back into his chair, folding his hands over top one another on his lap. “She’s on the Falcon; she’s going to try to find Skywalker.” 

Finn lets go of a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, marvelling at Poe’s words. “Wow,” he manages, staring somewhere above Poe’s left knee. Rey is going to find the legendary Luke Skywalker… 

“Finn, you’ve been in a coma for almost a week now…” Poe says gently, interrupting Finn’s musings of Rey. Finn’s eyes snap up to Poe’s, disbelieving. 

“What?!” He gasps loudly. In his mind, he was just on Starkiller. It was only a few hours ago that he had picked up Luke Skywalker’s lightsaber and attempted to go toe to toe with a dark Jedi. What had he missed, what happened while he was out, how is he still alive?  
“Hey, hey, easy buddy, easy.” Poe is standing now, a hand on Finn’s forearm. The vitals on the glass dome are flashing, Finn’s heart rate escalating and producing a panic-inducing beeping from somewhere over his left shoulder. “Calm down, I’ll explain everything.” Poe says, patting Finn’s forearm and scooching his chair closer to Finn’s bedside. Finn’s breathing slows, and eventually the beeping goes away. 

Poe weaves an incredible tale. If he weren’t such a good pilot, Finn might tell his to become a writer, because the way he is describing the events of the past week is nothing short of poetic. His hands fly around wildly as he gesticulates, telling Finn about taking the final shot to destroy Starkiller, watching the map to Luke Skywalker piece itself together, scrambling around the base to attend to the wounded, watching Finn’s lifeless body be hauled out of a medical transport on a hover-stretcher, waiting around for Finn to get out of surgery, flying night patrols, and talking strategy with General Organa herself. 

“Yeah, so I had just gotten back from patrol this morning, and I was tuning up the X-wing a little bit ‘cause re-entry was a little unstable this time around, and I got a comm saying that they were gonna wake you up today and I rushed over here.” He holds up his hands to show Finn the extent of the grease, as if he’s presenting evidence of his alibi. “I think BB-8 is still back in the hangar, medical only wanted you to have one visitor at a time so it wasn’t overwhelming, but I’m sure they’d love to see you whenever you’re feeling up to it, buddy.” Poe finishes, flashing a small smile. 

“One visitor at a time, huh? Well, I only know like three people here, one of which is currently speeding off to an unknown corner of the galaxy is search of a mythical Jedi knight, so I think sticking to that rule will be pretty easy.” Finn hypothesizes, looking intently down at the white fabric of the blankets covering his body. Poe chuckles, and Finn looks to him, confused.

“I think you’ll find that your reputation supersedes you, Finn.” He says, a knowing glimmer in his eye. “You’ve been the talk of the base since you got back. Everybody wants a piece of the newest Jedi hero in town.” His eyebrows waggle up and down at this, which makes Finn laugh. He is reminded, through a shooting pain down his arms, that this is the first time he has laughed since waking up. His chuckle morphs into a soft cry of pain, and Poe is immediately on his feet again, worrying over Finn.

“Ah hell, I’ve done it now,” He says. “Doctor Kalonia?” He yells in the direction of the door to Finn’s room. “Need some help here,” 

“M’fine,” Finn gasps, but the pain is still blooming outward from his back, and he grasps at the blankets around him.

The door bursts open, and a lanky woman with dark brown hair and a serious expression strides quickly over to Finn’s bedside. “What did I tell you about riling him up?” She snaps at Poe, shooting him a glare as she adjusts some knobs next to Finn’s head. “Can’t leave you alone for a second, I swear..” she grumbles, turning now to the glass dome over Finn’s head, inputting a series of letters and numbers so quickly, that Finn cannot begin to process them from his backwards point of view. It is strange to look at Doctor Kalonia from this angle--her eyes are directly in line with his, but they are out of focus as she attends to the glass nearly six inches away from Finn’s face. Her brows are set in a deep furrow, and as she presses a final entry key, Finn feels the pain begin to ebb away from his chest. 

“There, he’s stable now,” Kalonia says, crossing her arms and turning back to Poe. “Now, do me a favor and get your non-sanitary, greasy ass out of my medbay. He needs to rest,” she jerks her head in the direction of Finn now, speaking as though he isn’t lying helpless a foot away from her. He can see the briefest hint of a smile playing on her lips, though, as she looks at Poe. She turns to Finn now, her aged face looking slightly weary in the bright white lights. “I just gave you some pretty strong sedatives and painkillers, so you’re going to feel a little tired in a bit. Just let it happen; you need to rest.” Her gaze is intense and scrutinizing, but Finn has a strange feeling that it is the face of someone who cares rather than someone who judges, so he decides to feel relaxed by it. 

“I’ve been resting,” Finn says “for nearly a week now. Don’t need any more,” But even as he speaks he feels himself getting heavier and heavier, pushing ever closer into the soft mattress, his vision growing fuzzy. Distantly, he thinks he hears Poe chuckle, feels Poe’s warm hand in his. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up, bud.” It is the last thing Finn hears before he drifts into a dreamless sleep.


	2. Table manners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe updates his fellow pilots on Finn's condition

Poe arranges Finn’s limp hand carefully by his side and allows himself one glance at his serene face before following Kalonia out of the room and into the medbay airlock. Sterile air is pumped into the small room, and Poe stands wordlessly behind Kalonia as he waits for the door to swing open with a whoosh of air and a bright dinging noise. Kalonia strides easily over to her desk, placing her datapad down and reaching for a mug of dark, steaming caf. Poe looks at the cup mournfully. He could really use one of those right about now. 

As if reading Poe’s mind, Kalonia peers over the rim of her cup at him, and says through a cloud of puffy steam: “Go on down to the mess hall, I’ll comm you when he’s waking up.” She smirks as she sips.

“Thanks, doc,” Poe says, relieved. Finn didn’t need to know that Poe had been at his bedside all morning waiting for the meds to wear off, and he’d missed breakfast and lunch, two out of three of his favorite meals of the day. His stomach seems to realize this fact as he walks through the duracrete halls of the Resistance base towards mess. 

He rounds the corner leading to the cafeteria and as he passes through the hinged double doors, he sees his squadron seated at one of the far right tables. Jess Pava notices him first, and she stands on her chair to wave enthusiastically. Poe chuckles to himself and makes his way over, trying to ignore the heads turning towards him in response to Jess’ spectacle. 

“Well, well, welcome back, commander. We were starting to think you’d checked yourself into medical to finally get that big head of yours looked at.” Jess says good-naturedly, shoving a tray full of food Poe’s way. Poe is about to ask whose food he’s about to steal, because with how ravenous he has become since stepping into the mess hall, he doesn’t think he could bring himself to care if he ate someone else’s scraps, but Jess preemptively answers his question: “Knew you’d be down here sooner or later. We missed you at lunch.”

Snap claps him on the shoulder as he sits down, and Poe wastes no time in digging in, shoving some kind of noodle soup in his mouth with enough enthusiasm to spray broth across the table. 

“Hey! Watch it,” Jess quips, lowering her hands from her face and wiping them on her flightsuit.

“How’s Finn?” Snap asks, his bearded mouth full of bread. 

“He’s… stable.” Poe says, choosing his words carefully. He stabs his fork into something leafy and green, shoving it into his mouth as he continues speaking. “Kalonia put him back under just now, gave him some pain meds. I don’t think he took too well to waking up straight outta battle. He came-to kicking and screaming… metaphorically speaking.” Poe covers his mouth with his hand as he speaks, both for Jess’ benefit so he doesn’t offend her with his bad table manners, and to cover up his fond smile. 

The other pilots nod into their food, knowing full well what it’s like to be stuck in the medbay, hopped up on pain meds. Poe has had his fair share of close calls, too, but none as bad as this. Finn literally has to re-grow part of his spine, and while the bacta suit will help, it’s going to take him quite a while to be back to Kylo-Ren-Ass-Kicking levels. 

“We kicked BB-8 out of the hangar after you left; he’s probably back up in your room now.” Jess tells him. “Finished repairs to Black One as well, so no need to worry about that.”

Poe stops his fork midway to his mouth, his jaw agape. “You did… a nice thing… for me? For no reason?” He asks incredulously. L'ulo stifles a laugh into his drink, and Snap elbows him good naturedly. 

“Hey, hey, alright. Yeah, but don’t get used to it. We figured it would be best for all of us if we were ready to go at a moment’s notice, so when you sprinted out of the hangar this morning to go visit your boy--” Jess yelps at that, and Poe guesses that Snap had kicked her from under the table. “--we took it upon ourselves to fix your half-assed repair job.” Jess ends the sentence on a quippy note, but the significance isn’t lost on Poe. ‘Ready to go at a moment’s notice’ were General Organa’s words. The threat of the First Order lay heavy and imminent in the hearts of the Resistance. Poe had watched General Organa during the debrief, a ball of anxiety himself after watching Finn being hauled towards the medbay, and although she held herself well, Poe could see the grief behind her eyes. The leader of the Resistance may have been the most fiercely loyal and brave woman Poe had ever met, but she was only human, and losing her husband so soon after getting him back seemed to take the fire from her soul. 

She had called the meeting to an end and swept away quietly to her private rooms, and Poe had sent out a silent apology to her in her wake as he tore away towards the medbay. 

 

Poe finishes his dinner quickly and thanks his friends, heaving himself up from his seat to deposit his tray on a nearby trash can. He pushes open the heavy double doors and makes his way back into the main hallway, turning towards the dorms and checking his comm unit as he walks. No new messages. The sedative that Kalonia had used on Finn had kept Poe under for days at a time after previous skirmishes, so he’s guessing that he at least has a couple hours before Kalonia pings him. 

He lets his feet carry him towards his quarters, relying on muscle memory more than thought, and he arrives at his door without much recollection of the walk over. He steps inside, the hydraulic door closing behind him, and kicks off his boots. He toes his socks off as well, standing on one foot at a time as he worms his way out of them, not bothering to bend over at all. He flings off the arms of his jumpsuit, and he just has his undershirt over his head when he hears BB-8 undocking from the charging port next to Poe’s desk. 

“[Status report: Friend-Finn] They demand, knocking into Poe’s shins. He stumbles backwards blindly, throwing his shirt somewhere near his bunk. He chuckles, shoving his flightsuit down the rest of the way and heading towards the fresher. 

“He’s fine, stable for now.” Poe calls over his shoulder, turning on the showerhead and putting a cautious foot into the stream of water. “Since when is he ‘friend Finn?’ Thought you didn’t trust the guy,” Poe asks as BB-8 rolls into the doorway. Poe thinks he should feel a bit funny, having a conversation with his droid as he stands naked in the doorway of the shower, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not like BB-8 hasn’t seen worse. 

“[After he returned me safely to base.” BB-8 beeps, swiveling his head around on its axis. “[And after you embraced on the tarmac. That is not enemy behavior.] They conclude, rolling out of the doorway. 

“No, it is not,” Poe says to himself, stepping into the stream of now-hot water.  
Poe scrubs at the dirt on his hands and face, and slaps some shampoo into his hair. He’s not doing a very good job of getting clean, but all he really wants to do is lay down and catch a few winks before he sees Finn again.

Oh, wait, he’s going to be seeing Finn again…

Poe pays closer attention to his hair after this realization, scrubbing dutifully and rinsing. He also squeezes out a bit more of the shampoo to use as an impromptu body wash. He gives himself one last rinse, turning around in in a circle under the steaming water, before shutting off the faucet and grabbing a towel off the counter. He fluffs it over his hair a few times, and then wraps it around his waist, padding out of the shower to stand in front of the mirror. 

The glass is fogged over from his shower, and he swipes a hand over where he approximates his face to be so that he can shave. 

He looks back at himself, a tired approximation of the reflection he is used to seeing. His eyes betray him in their exhaustion, and the weight of the last couple days tugs at the corners of his mouth. He realizes, as he is dragging the razor methodically across his chin, that he has only known Finn for a little over a week, and most of that time was spent with Finn unconscious and Poe hovering worriedly over his body. Finn doesn’t know that, though, and Poe isn’t sure how he would feel about that if he did know.

Poe shakes his razor under the tap for a few seconds before patting his face dry and returning to his bunk. He flops down on top of the covers, still in his damp towel, and reaches for his flight suit on the ground. He fishes around for his comm unit, and once he sees there are no new messages, he flops back down onto the bed, presses the comm into the blanket close to his head, and falls asleep to the sound of BB-8 whirring gently at the foot of the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, didn't expect to write 2 chapters today, but here we are. Sorry for any grammar mistake or spelling errors, I'm not editing these as I go, I', just word vomiting and hitting the 'post' button and hoping something sticks.
> 
> Fluff incoming! Soon! Hopefully! I'm kind of a slow writer when it comes to plot development lol
> 
> :)


	3. Poe: Not much of a Sewer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn gets his jacket back.
> 
> Title taken from the deleted scenes of The Last Jedi. Please Rian Johnson, give me what I want.

Finn is pulled back into consciousness by his head drifting mechanically upwards. He blinks away the last dregs of his drug induced sleep and attempts to take in the new perspective of his room. At some point during his sleep, the glass dome has lifted away from his head, and it lies hinged to the left side of his bed, his vitals still flashing across the now convex clear screen. He hears a faint buzzing noise as his bed folds him into a sitting position, stopping at a very precise 45 degree angle. Now he can see his feet, and he wiggles his toes delightedly at the sight, happy that his injury was not a bad as it could have been. The motion is labored, though, and he knows that he has a long road ahead of him in recovery. But, as he glances across the room towards the heavy silver door of his bio-contaminate controlled room, he thinks that the approaching company will make his journey back to good health a bearable one. 

“I know it’s a shit job, BB-8,” Poe’s annoyed voice carries down the hallway before he arrives at Finn’s door. “But it’s the best I could do on short notice.” Finn, unable to help himself, smiles. He hears the ‘whoosh’ of the decontaminating airlock, along with a string of indecipherable beeps that he can only assume are from Poe’s astromech. On cue, his door swings open mechanically, and the orange and white ball he has come to love rolls into view. Their head swivels around until it’s photoreceptor locks on Finn’s bedridden frame, and it lets out a shrill and excited-sounding series of binary before rocketing to Finn’s bedside. Poe is not far behind, and he enters with his arms behind his back, looking sheepish. 

“Hey there,” He says, walking to the foot of Finn’s bed. BB-8 looks towards its master and beeps what sounds to Finn like a query. “BB-8 wants to know how you’re feeling,” Poe translates, looking at Finn like it’s as much his question as it is his droid’s. 

“Hey, I’m kind of upright, so that’s something.” Finn says easily, attempting to wave an arm towards his now inclined torso, but the bacta suit weighs too heavily on his weakened muscles, and he is unable to move. He settles for flashing BB-8 a quick thumbs up, hoping that the small droid can see it from its vantage point on the floor. He seems to, as he flicks out his butane torch and lights it with a delighted sound. Poe giggles at that, still standing at the foot of Finn’s bed.

He’s changed clothes, Finn notices. His garish orange flight suit is gone, replaced now by regulation civvies and a worn looking dark brown leather jacket. It compliments Poe’s hair well, which Finn also notices is a bit wet. To top it off, Poe is clean shaven, so his dark mop of curly hair stands out even more against his handsome face.

Handsome… Finn would have time to question his adjective usage later.

“Whatcha got there?” Finn asks him, jerking his chin in Poe’s direction. Poe is obviously concealing something from Finn at this point; both of his arms are behind his back and Finn can just barely make out a lumpy shape peeking out from behind Poe’s torso. 

Poe smiles and brings his hand around, holding the lump in front of him now. He walks to the opposite side of Finn’s bed as BB-8 and takes up his usual post at his chair. Finn can see the object in more detail now, and a shock of recognition runs through him.

“Your jacket!!” He blurts, elated at the sight of the soft brown fabric. Poe unfurls the jacket gently, spreading it across his lap so Finn can see it from his position on the bed. 

“I think you mean your jacket, buddy. I kind of gave it to you, remember?” Poe asks, unable to hide the smile that graces his features. Finn’s mind flashes back to the tarmac where he reunited with Poe. He had seen Poe jump out of his X-wing, handing his helmet to a nearby tech and turning around to see BB-8 hurtling towards him at breakneck speed. He had let out a full-body laugh at that, one that Finn could see rather than hear over the noise of the runway behind him as transports came and went. Finn forced his feet to carry himself forwards, his excitement betraying him and he broke into a jog and yelled: “Poe?” Poe had looked up at him then, had seen him, had said something, but Finn didn’t hear him. The blood was rushing too quickly through his ears. “Poe Dameron, you’re alive?” Finn said in disbelief, not daring to look away from the dead-man-walking now sprinting towards him. They met in a violent tangle of limbs, Poe’s arms wrapping tightly around Finn’s shoulders and his life support pack pressing uncomfortably into Finn’s chest, but Finn didn’t care. He pressed impossibly closer to Poe, caging him in with his arms, wishing with all his might that this was real, that this was not some fever dream, that Poe had pulled back and looked at him with something akin to fondness in hit eyes. Finn hoped against all hope that Poe had bitten his lip, had cuffed him across the shoulder, had given him this jacket, and had told him he was a good man. 

For a moment, Finn is lost again in the impossibility of that moment, and his eyes snap back into focus at present-Poe waves his hand in front of Finn’s face.

“Hello? Ground control to major Finn?” Poe says, a smile still playing on his lips. He lays the jacket gingerly on top of Finn’s blankets, backside up, and Finn can see for the first time the extent of Kylo Ren’s wrath.

There is an ugly, jagged scar running up and across the worn brown leather of the jacket, almost a foot long, and the leather around where the lightsaber sliced into his flesh is singed black, either from the heat of the saber itself, or from Finn’s blood. Finn doesn’t want to know which of the two options it might be. The tear, however, has been crudely fixed back together with what look like large metal staples. The whole project has a very Poe-like quality to it--it is hand-fixed and looks to have been gently cared for, but the slapstick way in which the jacket was repaired almost makes Finn smile. It’s rough around the edges, like Poe. Like himself. 

“Poe, I… I don’t know what to say. Did you do this?” Finn asks, running his thumb along the hem of the jacket that rests across his hands. Poe gives a small nod.

“Yeah, I’m not much of a sewer, so sorry if it’s a shitty repair job. I just took some old scraps from Black One and stapled her back together--it’s got some character now, at least.” He supplies, also running a hand across the new ‘stitching’. “Figured you’d want your good luck charm back, so I went and fixed it before you woke up.”

Finn’s eyes fall gently on Poe’s face as he continues to study his handiwork. “Poe. Thank you. I’ve… I’ve never been give something like this before.” In truth, Finn’s never been given anything before, but he doesn’t want Poe’s efforts to go unnoticed because he has nothing to compare. Poe’s hand stills on the metal stitching, and slides down over the jacket, coming to rest over top of Finn’s.

“You deserve so much more,” he murmurs, still staring at the jacket. Finn is staring at their hands, and for a moment, they sit in comfortable silence. Finn is glad that the glass dome has been lifted off him and Poe can’t see his vitals, because he’s sure his heart is beating a thousand parsecs a minute. BB-8 beeps something that sounds urgent at Poe, and Poe stands up suddenly, his hand falling from Finn’s (to Finn’s chagrin) and his chair squeaking backwards loudly. 

“Shit,” he starts, looking at his comm unit. “It’s the General,” he explains, his concerned eyes falling on Finn’s confused face. “Suspicious signal off-planet. Probably nothing, but she needs some pilots to check it out.” Poe stuffs his comm unit in his jacket pocket and nods at BB-8, who turns on its axis and rolls towards the door. “I’ll be back before you know it. Don’t go running off, okay?” He says lightly, wagging an accusatory finger in Finn’s face.

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” Finn supplies, acting wounded. Poe smiles at that, and turns on his heel to meet BB-8 at the door. He looks back at Finn at the last second, his foot raised to step over the threshold into the airlock, and he looks...expectant? Finn can’t place the look, but Poe nods at him all the same before the door softly clicks shut, and the ‘whoosh’ of the airlock signals Poe and BB-8’s official exit. 

Finn sighs, looking back down at the jacket still spread over his lap. He forces his right arm to throw itself over the jacket so he can run his fingers over the expanse of supple leather, and feel the sharp disturbances of the staples across the new seam. He likes the jacket this way, he thinks. It has character. It says very distinctly: Poe. Finn thinks again, not for the first time that day and certainly not for the last time that day, of how incredibly lucky he is to have met Poe. He literally owes him life, though he suspects that Poe would say the same about him.

Finn chuckles to himself at the realization, his index finger coming to rest at the longest staple in the middle of the tear. He strokes his finger across the metal and tries to pinpoint on his back where this staple might land if he were wearing the jacket. If it weren’t for the bacta suit, and the incredible amount of pain he endured whenever he made any sudden movements to his torso, he’d have put the jacket on by now. But, for now, he settles for running his hands along the supple brown leather and imagining strong arms enveloping him in a crushingly warm embrace.


	4. Flight plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The patrol team has a little fun, and the General knows #what's up

“Jess, L’ulo, how do you read?” Poe says into the comm on his helmet. He is flying just above the thermosphere of D’Qar, his squadron spread out in a clean line on either side of him. If he strains against the belts of his seat, he can just barely see the green expanse of land stretching out on the planet beneath him, splotches of midnight blue water littered across the surface to form D’Qar’s many lakes and deltas. Above him is open space, stars strewn lazily across his field of vision and twinkling in the differential atmosphere around him. 

“Not picking up much of anything,” L’ulo’s voice cuts through the static of the comm. Poe suppresses a sigh. They had been patrolling for nearly two hours now, and although he would never complain about flying a mission with his squadron, the silence of this particular assignment put him on edge. 

“General Organa, this is Black Leader,” Poe addresses the control room back at base. 

“Go for the General, Black Leader” General Organa’s voice rings clear in his ears, and Poe’s shoulders infinitesimally relax. She addresses him formally, but he knows that it’s more for protocol than it is for personal reasons. General Organa had been known to ignore protocol when the moment called for it, which made Poe respect her all the more. 

“We’re not picking up anything up here. The signal’s gone dark and we’ve already done a full orbit--are you getting anything new on the electromagnetic reader?” Poe inquires. 

“Negative, Commander. Both radio waves and gamma radiation have stopped since you went up.” Strange, Poe thinks. Maybe it was a coincidence-- “Although we doubt that was purely out of chance.” General Organa seems to read his thoughts, telegraphing them to his squadron without him having to open his mouth. 

Jess pipes up, her usually raucous voice thin in Poe’s helmet, “Either they’re watching us, or we’re out of range of the signal. I triangulated the signal when we first received it--looks like it was coming from a nearby system, but it’s encrypted to all hell and there was a pulsar interference jumbling up the waves.” A faint beeping noise can be heard from Jess’ comm as she sends the info to base. “If I had to guess, I’d say First Order.” She finishes grimly. 

General Organa speaks firmly then, but Poe can hear a hint of a smile in her voice, “Well, it’s a good thing we don’t operate on guesswork, Captain. We’ll send out another patrol later tonight, wait for a good window for the signal to come back through. Until then, come back down to base and rest.” 

“Roger that,” L’ulo sighs, breaking formation and banking a hard right back towards the base. 

It’s just L’ulo, Jess, and Poe for this run, so Poe waits for Jess to fall in line behind L’ulo to swing his X-Wing around and follow them. They angle the noses of the craft downward so they can re-enter the atmosphere at a shallow angle, and begin their slow descent back towards base. 

The ride is pleasant enough; it’s a clear day on D’Qar, so no clouds or turbulence to deal with once they break atmo. They fly more freely now, the gravity of the gargantuan planet forcing them to up their thrusters and rocket past the green surface at near sonic speeds. Poe speeds ahead to be neck and neck with Jess and L’ulo, and a mischievous fire lights in his belly. He looks to both of their cockpits to find their helmeted faces looking at him readily, as if they know what he’s going to suggest.

“On my mark,” He starts, looking back out of his cockpit window and focusing on the horizon line. He adjusts his grip on the joystick and licks his lips in anticipation of the challenge. “3...2...1...g--”

“GO!” Jess’ voice screams and her X-Wing takes off in front of them, swerving in front of Poe’s to cut him off and charging into the distance. She is laughing wildly into her comm, and Poe surges forward, slamming the thruster pedal down and nosing up on the joystick, trying to get some lift. L’ulo is left far behind.

They’re within ten clicks of base now, and Jess still has about a 3 X-Wing’s length lead on Poe. To her credit, she’s a good pilot, but she certainly jumped the gun to get a lead. If there’s one thing Poe can’t stand, it’s a cheater. 

Lining himself up along Jess’ left side, he patches into his personal comm with BB-8. They are within eight clicks of the base now. “Ready for evasive maneuvers, BB?” Poe clicks a couple switches and hears BB-8’s delighted warble. “Okay buddy, here we go.” His gloved hand hovers over his nitrous booster switch. Usually, you would only use the nitrous boosters during landing if your landing compressors were shot during battle, but Poe has figured out a way to angle them just so, so that when he flicks the switch---

Poe’s helmeted head slams back into his headrest and he lets out a delighted whoop as he surges past Jess’ X-Wing. He steals a glance at her as he zooms by, finding her wide-eyed and disbelieving as her victory slips away. She flips him the bird, but Poe decides to let it slide. His nitrous boosters are depleting quickly, so he flicks them off and flies manually, starting the circular descent back to the compound below him. He is at least 5 X-Wing lengths ahead of Jess, and now that they’re in official airspace, there’s no room to be horsing around with the transports and medical vehicles zipping around everywhere. This race is as good as won. 

“Nicely done, BB” Poe smirks into the squadron line, knowing full well that Jess can hear every word. She remains silent on her end of the line, but L’ulo pipes up with a congratulatory remark, and Poe ruffles satisfactorily. The three X-Wings swing around to the tactical zone of the tarmac, landing in the adjacent spaces within Black Squadron’s zone. Techs are quick to strap down the landing gear, placing blocks behind the wheels and rolling ladders to the cockpits. Poe swings the hatch open with a flourish, taking off his helmet and shaking his hair free, watching Jess throw her helmet at a technician and flash Poe a final dirty look before stalking petulantly off to the hangar. 

“Well done! Patrol is going to be fun later tonight,” L’ulo’s voice floats up to Poe from the bottom of the ladder. Poe flashes him a winning smile before descending to the duracrete, landing next to him just as BB-8 disengages from the X-Wing. 

“You know, you could just let her win one of these days,” L’ulo suggests, falling into step next to Poe and his astromech as they turn away from the tarmac and duck into the hangar, heading to debrief with the General. “Make all of our jobs a hell of a lot easier.”

Poe nods, looking intently at the ground in front of him. “She’s a hell of a pilot, and a pretty good kid as far as shit-eating kids go. She’ll get the jump on me one of these days all on her own,” Poe promises, looking at L’ulo and winking. L’ulo was highly respected around the base, as he had led and flown in countless Resistance battles. Poe knew, too, that L’ulo had known his mother Shara Bey back in the day, and had gone into battle with her while Poe was still learning how to walk. After his mother had died, Poe saw L’ulo as a member of the family. He had been there when Poe defected from the Republic Navy to fight for the Resistance, and he had watched Poe with pride in his eyes at his ranking ceremony, when Poe officially became a Commander. 

“They grow up so fast,” L’ulo says, a knowing smile playing on his lips. They’ve made it to the control room now, and L’ulo places a green-skinned hand on the bioscanner next to the door. The door slides upward with a hydraulic hiss, and the two pilots duck under it to meet Jess and the General, who are already standing a the round table in the center of the room, the green light of the holomap of D’Qar casting a ghastly glow across their faces. Jess is busy relaying information, explaining her schematics to the General from her datapad. 

“...so we should have about an hour long gap in between pulsar signals, but anywhere outside of there the signal is too warped to follow,” Poe catches Jess on the tail end of her explanation, and the General looks up from the datapad, nodding at L’ulo and himself in turn. 

“Jessica has been explaining her strategy to work around the pulsar interferences, and I’d like you to implement it into the patrols from this point on,” the General states, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Her rings catch the green light and glint like neutron stars as she adjusts her hands over her forearms. 

“Can-do, General,” Poe says, turning to Jess. “Good going, Pava. Glad you can be of some use,” He jokes, a teasing tone hiding underneath the compliment. He means well by the praise, though, and Jess smiles and nods at him.

“Hey, you should be thanking me for this. We only have to do a one hour patrol every six hours now, so that gives you plenty of time to hang around the medbay,” She waggles her eyebrows up and down at that, and Poe feels a hint of heat rise into his cheeks. Jess snorts a laugh, and after a curt salute to the General, exits back the way Poe and L’ulo came, her long black ponytail swaying behind her. 

The General looks after her fondly, and turning back to Poe and L’ulo, says “L’ulo, you’re free to go. Thank you.” L’ulo nods, salutes, and after a quick slap to Poe’s back, also heads back out the hangar doors after Jess. 

General Organa gestures for Poe to sit down at one of the technician chairs surrounding the three dimensional holo map. He does, careful to mind where he leans his elbows so he doesn’t press any buttons. The General sits down heavily, looking uncharacteristically weary, but Poe remembers all that she has been through in the past week alone and decides that if it were him, he wouldn’t have even bothered to get out of bed this morning. For General Organa to put her personal life second, to put the Resistance’s cause above all else, well, it only confirms to Poe that the General is the person to whom he looks up to the most. 

“Poe, I wanted to talk to you about Finn,” The General begins, interrupting Poe from his musings. “How is he holding up?” She asks.

Poe knows that the General could get this information from anyone; all she needs to do is ask. But he knows that she doesn’t want a clinical assessment, or a bunch of statistics thrown at her. She wants a real answer, from a real friend. She wants honesty. 

“He’s shaken up a bit, I think, but overall doing pretty well.” He thinks back to a few hours ago, when he gave Finn the jacket back, and remembers the elated smile that had lit up his face. Poe’s stomach had dropped pleasantly at the sight, not unlike the feeling of zero gravity that grips him during particularly difficult aerial maneuvers. “Why do you ask?” He ventures, perhaps overstepping his rank, but curious nonetheless. 

“He was part of the First Order not too long ago,” she explains. “I wanted to ask him some questions about the inner machinations of Stormtrooper training, perhaps how his upbringing was.” She says this with a calm voice, but Poe knows that on the inside she is burning with a mother’s rage. 

“You know, General,” Poe begins carefully, “It’s really not my place to speak on Finn’s behalf. I can let him know that you want to speak with him about First Order… stuff,” he waves his hands in what he hopes is an encompassing manner, “But I can’t say whether or not he’s ready to talk about it. That’s for him to decide,” he finishes, folding his hands in his lap and looking intently at the General’s boots. 

She seems satisfied by his answer, though, because when he dares to look back up at her, she is flashing him a knowing smile. She leans forward in her chair and grasps Poe’s shoulder in her hand. “He can take all the time he needs,” The General says, giving his shoulder a tight squeeze before standing up and brushing off her uniform. Her rings catch the light again and flash animatedly. She turns to walk away, and Poe understands his dismissal and stands as well, but before he leaves she looks back at him, “Oh, and Poe,” she begins. He stops, already halfway to the hangar door, looks back at her. “Nice patch job you did.” She smirks and turns her back to him then, heading up towards the flight deck. 

Poe feels a familiar heat creep back up into his cheeks as he murmurs a “Thanks,” no noone in particular, before turning on his heel and hightailing it out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh thanks so much for the positive response! I'm trying not to do a pure re-write of The Last Jedi plot, but it's hard to push the plot forward without a plan for the story in mind. Y'all have any suggestions? Lemme know!! :)


	5. Bacta suits and hot chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn is freed of his plastic/liquid prison, and Poe makes a promise.

“Alright, arms out,” Kalonia huffs, holding the collar of Finn’s bacta suit up over his head as he attempts to wiggle his arms without irritating his back. There is a thin film of sweat already beading on his forehead from just five minutes of physical activity, and Finn thanks his lucky stars that Kalonia can’t see his face from under the collar. He grunts with the effort, but manages to throw his limbs out in front of his body, his whole torso thrumming with the effort of the movement. 

“Well done,” Kalonia quips, adjusting her grip on the heavy plastic apparatus. The bacta-filled suit slaps Finn gently in the face with the movement, and he almost laughs at the ridiculousness of it all. “Now for the hard part: getting this thing off of you with two hands,” Kalonia’s aides had all been called into an emergency surgical procedure, so the doctor was left to tend to her patients on her own for a little while. She was more than capable of caring for her own, but Finn wondered if they may have bitten off a bit more than they could chew with this task. 

As if to punctuate his thoughts, one of the tubes connected to Finn’s left shoulder came unhoused with a ‘plop!’ as bacta gel began to spew everywhere. Kalonia jumped, jostling the suit further and sending an unpleasant amount of bacta goo over Finn’s bed. 

“Oh kriffin’ hell,” Kalonia hissed, not daring to let go of the collar still dangling above Finn’s head and watching as the tubing, now on the floor near her feet, drained of the last bit of bacta gel. She sighed, and giving a final heave, pushed the torso of the bacta suit all the way up and over Finn’s head. A few stray droplets of bacta were flicked onto Finn’s face in the movement, and he winced, regretting the movement instantly as a fresh jolt of pain wound up his spine. His arms were still pinned heavily to his lap in the sleeves of the bacta suit, and as Kalonia turned away from the sink where she had deposited the still leaking torso piece, Finn saw her eyes crinkle into an amused smile.

“You got a little somethin’,” she commented, pulling her sleeve down over her hand and wiping at the stray drops of bacta on Finn’s face. 

“Thanks,” he replied genuinely, looking towards the door as he heard the sound of the airlock whooshing closed. A second later, Poe squeezed through the door to Finn’s room as it opened, holding a mug of something in his left hand and intently trying not to spill it as he made his way over to Finn’s bedside.

“Ah, perfect timing, pilot. Help me with these,” Kalonia greeted him, gesturing to Finn’s arms. Poe seemed to notice Finn’s condition, then, and he placed the mug on the floor next to the chair at Finn’s bedside before straightening.

“Finally getting this thing off, huh? Must feel pretty good after a week of laying on your own personal waterbed.” Finn knit his eyebrows together at the comment, and Poe patted him gently on the shoulder, “Nah, nevermind. Just must be nice to get outta the suit is all.” He busied himself with undoing the sleeves, heeding Kalonia’s warning to watch himself around the tubing.

Kalonia slipped the sleeve completely from Finn’s left arm and turned to put it in the sink with the rest of the suit. Poe got his sleeve off shortly after, and he passed the glorified bag of bacta across Finn’s lap to her with whistle.

“Hell of a production you’re running here, doc,” He comments, sliding his chair closer to Finn’s bedside now and retrieving the mug from the floor. Finn thinks it looks a bit like caf, although it’s more opaque and slightly sweet smelling. 

“Have you forgotten that we’re in the middle of a galactic war, Commander?” Kalonia chides, washing her hands of the bacta gel and placing an absorbent mat over the spill on the floor. “It’s your job to keep this ‘production’ going just as much as it is mine.” She turns towards the door, grabbing her datapad as she leaves. “He’s had a rough last couple hours, so take it easy, alright?” She says mostly to Poe, but her eyes land on Finn to punctuate the remark before she steps outside of the room and into the biohazard airlock. 

“Yes ma’am,” Poe mutters, giving a small mock salute in her wake. He holds the mug out to Finn, “Brought ya something.”

“Thanks,” Finn says, cautiously raising an arm to take the cup. He finds it surprisingly easy without the heavy bags of gel to weigh him down, and he grasps the warm mug between his hands in his lap and stares at the frothy liquid inside. 

“Hot chocolate,” Poe supplies, leaning back in his chair and producing a napkin-wrapped bundle from his pocket. “Got a box of it last time I was on Coruscant, and I figured you being awake and alive was cause enough for celebration.” He unwraps the bundle as he speaks, revealing two lumpy cookies. He holds one out to Finn, who shifts the mug to his left hand shakily to take it.

“Thanks!” Finn says excitedly. Finn doesn’t think he’s ever had hot chocolate before, but he’s more than willing to try. Poe holds out his cookie in what Finn assumes is a toasting gesture, so he taps his cookie gently on the edge of Poe’s and takes an enthusiastic bite. 

“Bleh, not the best,” Poe says, making a face as he chews his bite. He leans forward with the remainder of his cookie and dunks it in Finn’s hot chocolate, and after another bite, makes a sound of approval.

Finn mirrors the gesture, dipping his cookie gingerly in the warm liquid before raising it to his mouth and taking a last big bite. 

Oh, this is it. This is IT for Finn. Hot chocolate… who… WHY was hot chocolate kept from him so long? This heavenly drink that surely was fit for a king, if not a god? He takes a sip from the mug and has to almost bite back tears, his taste buds unable to comprehend the milky sweetness of the drink. It’s visceral, and warm, and so comforting, and Finn can feel his insides practically humming with content. 

“Kriff, Poe,” he breathes, his eyes closed as he savors the drink. “This is amazing!” 

“Nahh, that’s the cheap stuff,” Poe laughs, his eyes falling fondly on Finn’s soft expression. “Just wait ‘til you’re outta here, we’ll go to the Capitol and get you some real hot chocolate. They put whipped blue milk on it and shave a little cinnamon on top,” His eyes go unfocused at the memory, momentarily far away as he reminisces.

Finn likes the idea of taking a trip to the Capital with Poe, especially if there will be hot chocolate involved. He raises the cup to his nose, breathing deeply and wondering how it could get any better than this perfect beverage before him. 

“You promise?” Finn asks, hoping that the universe will throw him some kind of metaphorical bone here to let him 1) walk out of this medbay sometime soon and 2) stay alive long enough to have hot chocolate with whipped blue milk and cinnamon in the company of the Resistance’s best pilot. 

Poe’s eyes go crinkly at that, and he grasps Finn’s now cookie free hand with his own. Promises are a dangerous game, especially during war, but Finn’s hope is bolstered at Poe’s reply:

“Yeah, Finn, I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! We're already at over 100 hits, y'all!! Holy hell! 
> 
> Thank you so much for tuning in. Like I said in the previous chapters, this is my first fic, so I'm learning as I go. Any and all comments are appreciated!
> 
> :)


	6. Poe Dameron: a sap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A recovering boy, a giggle fit, and a SMOOCH

Poe leaned dangerously far back in his chair, his head thrown back in laughter and his eyes screwed shut. His face hurt from smiling, and he felt as though his cheeks would be cemented in a permanent grin from the way the muscles around his mouth were twitching in fatigue. He let his chair fall forward with a snap and shoved his face into his hands, allowing the wave of amusement to turn him into a blubbering mess.

Finn was in a similar state, though since his injured back made him particularly immobile, he was practically vibrating in place, tamping down on his giggles as best he could. He shakily wiped away a stray tear, exhaling animatedly as the last of the laughter bubbled from his lips. 

“And then,” Poe wheezed, sniffing and raising his head from his hands. “And then Snap stumbles out of the tent, still drunk off his ass, and his pants are around his ankles,” Poe looks expectantly at Finn, who is biting his bottom lip in an attempt to hold in his laughter. “And--and--” Poe starts up laughing again, before he’s even finished the story, and he shoves his face into the side of Finn’s mattress as he practically screams with an unprovoked fit of slap-happiness. 

Finn, holding himself together a little better this time, smacks Poe’s shoulder and shushes him. “Poe! There are people sleeping!” He sounds amused, though, and Poe waves a hand at him, breathing deeply and collecting himself. He shoves himself up off of the bed, throwing himself limply back against his chair and deflating with a heavy sigh. 

“Yeah, so,” Poe continues cautiously, reigning in his laughter as it threatens to escape from behind his lips, “Long story short, the mission went ass-up and so did Snap.” He wipes his hands on his pants, effectively punctuating the story.

“Good to know,” Finn says lightly, amusement still thick in his voice. “I’ll make sure to bring that up next time I see him.” Poe had been regaling Finn with stories of his squadron for the last couple hours, and Finn seemed happy to lend a listening ear. 

“How’re you feeling?” Poe asks, concerned for the state of Finn’s back after that last fit. Finn looks into empty space for a second, seemingly assessing his condition. He settles on something, nodding slightly to himself before turning his head back towards Poe.

“M’okay,” he asserts, “actually feel pretty good. Pain’s not unbearable.” He sweeps something invisible off the blanket in his lap, self conscious now of Poe’s fussing over him. 

“Kalonia says you’ll be able to be discharged tomorrow providing you feel up to it,” Poe says, meaning to sound casual. He props his foot up on the bed, his ankle coming to rest near Finn’s blanket-covered calves. “Hope you don’t mind, but I pulled a few strings with the quartermaster and got you all set up with a roommate,” He watches Finn out of the corner of his eye, guaging his reaction. “Nice enough guy, real hero type,” He continues, stifling a smirk. “He’s a pilot though, so you might have to deal with him bumbling around the room at odd hours and reeking of engine oil,” Poe hopes that he’s laying it on thick enough for Finn to get the hint.

Of course Finn gets the hint--Finn, quick as a whip and observant as all hell? 

“You and I are gonna be roommates?” Finn splutters, apparently shocked. An anxious wave washes over Poe’s guts at the tone of his voice. 

“Well, only if you want to,” He starts, looking at Finn’s face now and trying not to shoot him puppy-dog eyes. “I’m a real heavy sleeper, and I suck at cleaning, and tend to leave the light on when I leave because I forget about it,” Poe starts blabbing, “and my boots always end up blocking the door, and--” he mentally smacks himself for the tangent, hoping that his honesty and self-chastization didn’t wreck the moment. He sighs, swiping a hand across his face. “Look, buddy, I’d be a terrible excuse for a roommate but I’d be happy to have you. I’ve got the extra space, and I figured who better to share it with than the up-and-coming biggest deal in the Resistance?” He finishes more sure footedly, bravely adding a wink as he says ‘biggest deal.’

Finn flashes him a smile almost as bright as the one from the star destroyer, when Finn had first ripped off his plastoid helmet and declared: “I’m breaking you out,” and Poe had felt his weak heart stutter at the brilliance of his rescuer. He remembers thinking briefly, as Finn, then FN-2187, had held his arm tight and his blaster close to his ribs, that he had never gotten to play the damsel in distress before now. It seemed to always be him doing the rescuing, and he almost guiltily lets the thought humble him now as he looks into the eyes of his saving grace. 

“I really appreciate it, Poe,” Finn says softly, looking so genuine that it makes Poe’s stomach do a little flip. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you,” He flutters his eyelashes theatrically, which only adds to the cold fire in Poe’s belly, and then his expression turns immediately serious. “Seriously, thank you.” 

Poe shakes his head, nudging Finn’s legs with his foot still slung up on the bed. “Nah, no thanks needed. And how about we call it even--you save me from certain death, I let you sleep on my spare bunk,” he raises his hands back and forth in an approximation of a scale, as if weighing the two scenarios. “Seems about right,” he finishes, letting his hands fall back onto his lap. 

The metallic hiss of Finn’s hydraulic door opening breaks the two of them from their sentimental moment. They had completely missed the sound of the airlock, and now Kalonia was striding to Finn’s bedside, a datapad in hand and a clear plastic cup of medication balanced on the corner of it. 

“Nighttime meds, and then visiting hours are up, Mr. Dameron.” She pops the ‘p’ on up and looks pointedly to Poe, who guiltily swings his foot from the bed and stands, brushing his sweaty hands on his flight suit. Finn knocks back the pills easily, a practiced motion, and swallows them with the water that has been collecting condensation on his bedside table. Kalonia takes the plastic cup back from him and enters some info on her datapad before turning back the way she came. She stops in the doorway and calls to Finn: “Red call button on your left goes straight to my comm. Let me know if you need anything,” and then she’s gone, the door clicking shut behind her. Both men listen to the sound of the airlock opening and closing, and Poe turns to Finn to say his well wishes. 

Finn looks up at him with a sad, almost scared expression. He seems to be at war with himself, his usual guardedness slipping for a brief moment to reveal his anxiety before he is quirking his brows up in a small smile. He’s a good actor, Poe thinks, but it takes one to know one, and Poe’s seen that look before. In the mirror, in holos of himself, in the faces of his squadron after a particularly bad mission. Poe knows how Finn doesn’t like to be fussed over, though, so he settles for placing a hand gently on his shoulder and rubbing his thumb gently over Finn’s collarbone. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, alright roomie?” He says softly, holding Finn’s gaze and trying to inject as much warmth into the words as he can. Finn nods minutely, but Poe is unconvinced. 

Poe will lie in his bunk later that night and replay the moment in his head fifty times before he falls asleep. He will try to burn the moment into his mind and commit every detail to memory: the feeling of Finn’s scrubs under his thumb, the thick air reeking of disinfectant, the expectant eyes of his friend looking up at him as he decided whether or not he should leave things unsaid, the mechanical whirring of the machines embedded in the wall of Finn’s room, breathing on their own accord and flashing meditatively. Poe will scrunch his eyes up and smile, and mush his face into his pillow and let out a little eek of joy for only himself to hear. 

Poe leans down before he can decide otherwise and plants a soft, lingering kiss to Finn’s cheek. Finn gasps, and Poe can feel his shoulder tense and relax under his hand. He rises slowly, analyzing Finn’s features for any signs of distress, but finds only serene brown eyes looking intently back at him. He and Finn wear twin smiles, small and shy, as Poe gives his friend’s shoulder a small squeeze and walks slowly to the door. 

He looks back over his shoulder as he leaves, calling a small “Goodnight,” and waving. Finn waves back, and Poe can feel his eyes burning into his back as the door finally closes behind him, the airlock making him feel lightheaded and dizzy as fresh air is pumped in around him. He stumbles out of the lock and shakes himself, takes a steadying breath, and walks briskly out of the medbay.

If anyone were around to see it, they would have said that they saw Poe Dameron, the Resistance’s best pilot, waltzing down the corridor by himself and stopping every so often to punch the air and whisper a “Yes!” to the duracrete ceilings. They would have seen him stop outside of his door and slide to the ground limply, a stupidly elated smile on his lips as he knocked his boots together in front of him. 

But nobody was around, and Poe got to have the moment all to himself; and if he stayed sat outside of his door for a few minutes, smiling blindly into the crook of his arm, well, no one had to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY! Finally, some fluff! 
> 
> Hope you are enjoying what is turning out to be the SLOWEST BURN OF ALL TIME, seriously it is torture to write because I want them to just make out already but we gotta keep it #realistic.
> 
> Lemme know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Please please please give me your thoughts!!! Much appreciated!!!!


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